


The Promise of Tomorrow

by morrow24601



Category: Mary Poppins (Movies)
Genre: 1930s, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29571636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrow24601/pseuds/morrow24601
Summary: After moving back home to London, you meet a handsome lamplighter. As love blooms, will the differences in your circumstances come between you?
Relationships: Jack the lamplighter/reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	1. Out of Place

**Author's Note:**

> Jack/reader fic! There will be sex eventually, so be warned/excited.

You look out from your balcony at the grey London sky, the sun just beginning to set on the horizon. Every day is grey lately, and every night so dark even though spring has arrived. The world should be brighter, lighter, but everything feels weighed down, as if still covered in snow and ice.

But maybe that has to do with the fact that your life has fallen into shambles over the past few weeks. Returning to your father’s home in London after breaking things off with your fiancée could do that to a person.

You slump back against the brick wall in the balcony corner and sigh deeply. “What on Earth am I going to do with myself?” you ask aloud, softly. You had a useless University degree, but never worked a day in your life because it was never expected of you. Besides, your banker father never would have allowed it. No job, no man, no friends left in this enormous city. Tears well in your eyes and you close your eyelids, wishing to be somewhere else for even a second.

Taking a deep breath in, you open your eyes and look up again at the sky. If only the stars would come out early tonight, maybe your wish could come true.

Sniffling a little, you wipe a few times at your eyes with your sleeves. At least the street is empty so there’s no one to see you wallowing in your misfortune.

But just then the lamp below comes alive. The sudden light makes you jump, but you stifle the shriek that almost escapes your lips. You tuck yourself back into your window, trying to hide behind your thin curtains. You can hear a clacking sound of wood on metal, but from your vantage point you can’t see the pavement. As you try to crane your head while still remaining as hidden as you can, you see movement suddenly—a bicycle and rider pedaling from the lamp. The ladder sticking up from the back of the bicycle means it’s the lamplighter, but all you can see is the back of him, his head covered by a flat cap.

Did he see you crying outside your window? Just what you needed—someone spying on you in your lowest moments.

From inside the house you hear Polly, the housekeeper, call your name and tells you your father wishes to speak with you. You shake your head and make sure your eyes are dry. “Coming!” you shout back. Time to put on if not a happy face, at least a face that doesn’t betray your loneliness. If only for the length of a hopefully short conversation with your father, then you could return to your bedroom and cry yourself to sleep.

* * *

In the morning you drag yourself out of bed, eyes and head still stinging from staying up too late crying into your pillow. You feel hung over, though you’ve only drunk enough for that a couple times in your life. Maybe you look as awful as you feel and can pretend to be sick and stay in bed all day. It’s already later than you normally get up and your father would have already left for work. You wonder how you didn’t get yelled at for missing breakfast with him.

Rubbing your temples, you throw on a robe and walk to the window to open the curtains. The light stings your eyes as soon as you pull the curtains apart and you immediately close your eyes. You open them again one at a time, and see something amiss.

A single daisy sits on your railing.

You stare it at for at least ten seconds, trying to discern if it is actually there or if your sleep deprived mind is inventing mysterious flowers. But no—it’s there, the yellow center pointing in your direction. You take a tenuous step onto the balcony and glance quickly at the street below. No one is around, so you pull your robe tighter and step all the way out. Reaching out slowly, you pick up the delicate bloom with three fingers. You turn it around a little before bringing it to your nose. The scent of it causes just the ghost of a smile to cross your lips for a moment.

How did a daisy make it all the way up here? Surely the wind couldn’t carry something like this and besides; there wasn’t any wind last night. You frown now, puzzled.

Could it—no.

But possibly?

Someone with a ladder could have placed a flower on your balcony.

But why?

You hear a gentle knock on your door and turn suddenly, rushing back into your room.

“Are you awake, dear?” Polly asks as she slowly opens the door.

“Yes, I just got out of bed.”

“Oh good.” She smiles at you and tilts her head. “Where’s the daisy from, dear?”

You look down at your hand, holding the daisy at your waist. “I—I found it on the balcony. I think the wind carried there last night.”

“How curious,” Polly says. She looks at your face again. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Actually I think I may be a bit under the weather.” You place the back of your hand against your forehead.

“I thought as much, which is why I kept your father from pounding on your door this morning. So be in bed when he gets home from work, all right?”

You nod. “Thank you, Polly.”

“Of course, dear. I saved you a scone. If you want to come down, I’ll put the kettle on.”

“That would be lovely.”

Polly turns to go downstairs.

“But—Polly, how did you know I wasn’t feeling well?”

She turns back to you. “These old walls are thin in parts.” Stepping towards you, she gently grabs your forearm. “Things won’t seem so dire soon, my dearie.”

You nod again and she pats your arm. Polly closes the door as she leaves and you get dressed unhurriedly. As you finish, you look at your face in your mirror. Dark circles hang under your eyes and you really need to do something about your hair. You pin up your hair so it looks a little better. After you put in the last pin, you glance down at your vanity. The daisy sits there and you pet the white petals with one finger. You pick it up and without thinking, slip it behind your right ear. You turn your head to the side to see it in the mirror. Maybe this will distract from your tired eyes today. You head down to breakfast.

* * *

With the pounding in your head lessened with pastry and tea, you decide to take a walk since for once it’s a lovely day in London. There’s a park not far from home that only takes a few minutes to reach. Being mid-morning, the park is practically empty. Everyone else is at work, you think, drearily. Perhaps you could start trying to convince your father to let you get a job, even if only for a few days per week. It would give you something to do besides being morose in your room.

At least the sun was out today, and the spring flowers were in full bloom. You see a patch of daisies and bring your fingers to the matching one still in your hair. Across the path you spot the lines of tulips still hanging on this late in the season. You start towards them, but out of the corner of your eye you see movement and stop. On the intersecting path, a bicycle wheels in your direction and stops.

“Go right ahead, Miss,” the rider says.

“Oh, thank you,” you say as you look up at him.

You’re met with the loveliest pair of eyes you’ve ever seen. Your breath catches in your throat. The deep brown eyes look at you and all you can think is they are the kindest eyes, you feel safe in their gaze and there is somehow a child-like playfulness to them. Though the man has the brightest of smiles, he also looks taken aback. You both just stare at one another for what is only seconds, but feels like hours.

He breaks the silence, “Love- Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Y-yes, quite.” You force your gaze from those eyes and quickly take in the rest of him. Dark hair under a flat cap, a graze of stubble along his jaw line. His clothes were decent, if a little shabby and dirty. On his bicycle you see a torch on the front and a ladder on the back. A lamplighter, surely.

“Beautiful,” he says in an almost-whisper.

“What?”

“You-your daisy. It’s beautiful.” He points to your temple.

Your hand goes up to the flower. “Oh, right. Almost forgot it was there! Seemed appropriate for today, with the sun being out.”

“Splendid idea, Miss.” He’s still smiling at you and you never want him to stop. “Did you see there are still some tulips blooming?” He points across the path.

“I was just headed in their direction. I just adore tulips, the pink ones especially, I think. Though every colour is magnificent. So surprised there’s still some surviving this late into spring, but I suppose the weather’s been a bit odd this year, hasn’t it?” Good heavens, why can’t you stop vomiting words?

Still that smile. “Definitely an odd year.”

You stand in silence for another moment. You don’t want it to end, but you also feel like you’ve embarrassed yourself enough. “Well, those tulips won’t admire themselves!” What on earth is your brain doing to you?

“Of course. Please have the loveliest of days, Miss.”

You walk towards the tulips and he doffs his cap as you pass. As you walk on you hear the sounds of his bicycle behind you. You glance back over your shoulder, only to see him doing the same. He quickly turns his head and starts whistling, but you keep your gaze on him as he disappears across the park path.

Finally it feels as if your breath returns. You shake your head. Nothing like this has ever happened to you before. How could a stranger make you instantly feel so out of sorts? Surely it couldn’t just be his handsome face? You’d encountered plenty of those. But none with eyes like that, or a cute cockney accent to go with them.

You’re sure it’s just your vulnerable state of mind. You collect yourself and try to shrug it off. Besides, odds are that you’ll never see him again. London is a big place.

* * *

You’re woken up the next morning by a noise outside your window. It seems early, only just past dawn. After throwing on your robe, you open the curtains. Through the window you see something on your railing again. You open the window and step outside.

A pink tulip.

Your mouth falls open. The lamplighter? The same one?

You hear whistling on the street and look down to see a lamplighter on his bicycle. You watch as he continues down the cobblestones.

You pick up the tulip and bring it to your nose. This time the smile is a real one, the first time you’ve smiled since coming home.


	2. Early Morning Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wait for the lamplighter to appear again.

You awaken just as the sun starts to rise. Perfect. After putting on a dress, you quietly pull your chair away from your vanity so it’s next to your window. Then you sit and wait, listening to the birds chirping their morning songs. Yawning several times, you wish you could open your curtains and watch the sun rise fully, but you’re afraid if they’re open he won’t come.

Thankfully you don’t have to wait long before you hear a sound below your window. As silently as possible, you creep closer, holding your breath. You hear a tap, which must be a ladder against the house. Footsteps climb it next and when you hear them stop, you push the window open and step outside.

You’re met with a gasp and those perfect eyes as wide as they can be. The lamplighter is in the process of swinging himself over your railing and starts to teeter backwards. One of his arms flails in the air and you step forward quickly and grab his wrist, pulling him towards you.

He steadies himself and breathes hard, staring at your face. “Thanks for the rescue, Miss.”

You giggle, unable to hold it in at the sight of his utterly ridiculous face. “Oh, any time, Sir.”

He laughs, too. You realize you’re still holding onto his wrist and look down at it before slowly releasing him. “Sorry I scared you,” you say. Then you shake your head, “Wait, I shouldn’t be apologizing—”

“No, Miss, I’m sure I must’ve given you quite a fright.”

“Well, no, actually I was waiting for you.”

He stares at you again. “You were?”

You cross your arms in front of your chest. “I wanted to know who’s been sneaking onto my balcony in the mornings.”

A blush creeps through his cheeks, his mouth hanging open slightly. Then he gathers himself and removes his cap, holding it his chest. “Jack’s the name, Miss. Your lamplighter.”

“My—”

“Well—yours—for the whole street, I mean.”

“And why is my… street’s lamplighter leaving me flowers?”

He puts his cap back on and looks his feet. “It’s just—I thought they might bring you some cheer. Seemed like you could use some.”

You uncross your arms and let them hang by your sides. He must have seen you crying that night. As you watch him, he shuffles his feet a bit. You sigh. “They’re the only thing that’s brought me any cheer lately.”

He looks up from his feet at you and a small smile spreads across his lips. His eyes hold yours again and it feels like you’re swimming in a river, being pulled by the current.

He breaks the spell by opening the left side of his jacket. Nestled in the inner pocket, you see a pink flower poking through. “Then here’s hopefully a bit more cheer for you.” He pulls it out and holds it with both hands. “I’m not sure what this one’s called,” he says, twirling it in his fingers. “I just thought you might like it as it’s pink and you said you liked the pink tulips.”

“A chrysanthemum.”

“Chrysanthemum,” he holds it up in the air, examining it. “Lovely name.” His eyes move from the blossom to your face again. “Here you are, Miss.” He holds it out to you.

As you reach for the stem, your fingers brush his ever so slightly. Even that smallest touch sends a bolt of electricity through your body. “Thank you,” you manage to whisper.

He nods and his smile widens.

There are so many things you want to say and no words with which to say them.

“Well,” he finally says, “best be off to finish my rounds.”

“Oh, of course.”

He doffs his cap at you and turns to the railing.

“Jack—”

He turns back. “Yes, Miss?”

“You don’t—you don’t have to sneak up here, if you don’t want to.”

“Oh?”

“I wouldn’t mind a visit, if you’d like.”

His entire face lights up. “I would like. To visit, that is.”

“What time do you finish your nightly rounds?”

“’Round about right after sunset, usually.”

“Perfect. Would you like to come back this evening?”

“I would,” he says, “as long as it’s all right with you.”

“It is. All right. Yes.”

“Then I’ll see you this evening, Miss.” He swings a leg over the railing and you watch him put his feet at the top of his ladder.

You step towards the railing and hurriedly say your name.

He looks up at you, “Lovely name.” Then he slides down his ladder and nimbly hops as he reaches the ground. You watch as he replaces the ladder on the bicycle waiting on the pavement. He mounts and gives you another look. You wave, one hand still holding your chrysanthemum. He waves back, then pedals down the street, whistling again. You listen to the lovely tune until he is entirely out of earshot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note to say my goal is at least a chapter a week, hopefully more!


	3. A Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack visits your balcony in the evening for a chat.

The day passes slower than any other day in your life. Nothing can keep your attention for long. You’ve tried reading, re-organizing your closet and every drawer in your room, and even offering to help Polly do any cleaning. She gives you a suspicious look before saying you can dust the dining room.

Evening finally arrives and after trying to sit still through dinner with your father, which is always awkward and full of silence but was doubly worse tonight, you go to your room for the night as usual. Instead of changing into your nightgown and reading, you agonize for a while about which dress to wear. You finally pick one that’s nice but not too nice, then go about taming your hair and applying a little more makeup. Even though it will be dark, you still take extra care with the tiniest details.

As you check your hair in your mirror for the fifth time, you hear a soft whistle outside. Jack is climbing his ladder as you appear on the balcony.

“Good evening, Jack.”

“A very fine evening indeed, Miss!” He swings himself over the railing and stands a few feet from you.

You notice he’s changed clothes since that morning. He looks slightly cleaner, with a patterned kerchief tied around his neck. His jacket and pants are both grey with pinstripes, but slightly different colours and patterns. It also looks like he shaved sometime during the day, and although you like the smooth look of his face, you find yourself missing his stubble a little.

“How were your rounds today?”

He leans back against the railing. “Oh, uneventful. Nothing broken, which makes them go by faster. How was your day?”

“Uneventful as well. Though every day is for me, I suppose.” You send a sly half smile his way. “Except when strange men sneak onto my balcony at dawn.”

His eyes flick away from yours and then back again before a mirrored smirk crosses his lips. “Always doing my best to make life more interesting.”

You laugh. “Well, I appreciate that, really—my life certainly isn’t that interesting.”

Jack turns his head to your window. “It’s all right I’m here, isn’t it? I’m not going to get you in trouble with anyone?”

“Well… my father’s either in his study or gone to bed already, but his rooms are on the other side of the house so he shouldn’t hear us. And Polly, that’s our housekeeper, she never stays up late and her room is downstairs.”

Jack fidgets with the bottom of his jacket. “So… they wouldn’t like that I’m here.”

His nervousness is rubbing off on you. “I mean, we’re just having a chat, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

He nods and opens his mouth to say something more, but stops. And you know he wants to ask why a rich girl invited him up to her balcony. Though Britain’s made a lot of strides lately, classism is still rampant. You don’t care about that, but that doesn’t mean other people don’t and wouldn’t make your life, or especially Jack’s life, harder for it.

“It’s all right,” you assure him. “Polly is the most wonderful woman in the world and would invite you in for tea any day of the week.”

He smiles at that. “I rarely have a proper tea time, so I’d take her up on that.” His smile fades. “And your father…?”

You sigh. “My father has a lot of outdated ideas. I miss my mother—she may have been able to help him come around to some things.”

Jack’s warm eyes look at you sadly.

“She got sick and died when I was thirteen.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. We were close, so it took me a long time to get over her death. I mean, as much as a person ever does. Are your parents…?”

“Both my parents died when I was pretty young. Sickness, too.”

“That must have been so hard, Jack.”

He nods. “It was, but I had people who took me in and took care of me. Later I was apprenticed to a chimney sweep, Bert, who taught me a lot.”

“How did you become a lamplighter?”

“Worked my way up, bit by bit. Being a leerie is a good job and I had to prove myself.”

“Leerie?”

“That’s what we lamplighters call ourselves,” he says proudly.

“I feel like I’ve heard that word before…”

“Do you know any other leeries?”

You laugh. “Of course not, Jack—you’re the only one.”

He blushes and looks down. After clearing his throat he says, “I’m sure you don’t have a job, but what… do you do with your time?”

“I would love to have a job!” you exclaim.

“You want to have to work all day?”

“I want to have a purpose, to make a difference to society.”

He scratches his head. “You could do that without having a job. Plenty of high society ladies are organizing charities, working with unions to fight for workers’ rights.”

You’re completely taken aback. “I hadn’t thought of that. Those are splendid ideas, Jack!”

His blush returns to his cheeks. “I could introduce you to some people, if you’d like.”

“I’d love that, thank you.” The smile that had come to you quickly faded. “But—my father—I’m sure he wouldn’t allow any of it.” You slump to sit on the ground, feeling defeated.

Jack kneels and you appreciate him not towering over you. “Begging your pardon, but you seem old enough to have your own life.”

“Oh, I know I’m too old for nonsense—”

“That’s not what I meant! I’m sorry—”

“No, no, it’s all right.” You tilt your head back and sigh dramatically. “This is all my father wants to talk to me about.” You look at Jack again as he settles down on the ground. He sticks his legs out in front of himself like you and your feet overlap slightly. You have the urge to brush your stocking-clad foot against his boot but you resist. He looks at you patiently as he waits for you to continue.

“It’s—I had a life. In Bath. I went for university and fell in love with the city, so I stayed after graduation. I wanted to get a job there, but my father told me he didn’t approve of me working so he kept sending me an allowance. Eventually I met Arthur…” You pause and bite your lower lip, look down at your lap. “He seemed to really like me, so we started courting. My father was ecstatic because Arthur comes from a good family. ‘Good’ means ‘rich’ for him. When Arthur proposed, I accepted because I couldn’t think of a reason not to. As we started planning the wedding, one of my friends mentioned something about how it must be wonderful to be in love. And it just struck me so suddenly—I didn’t love him. I was just doing what I was supposed to, what was expected of me. So I broke the engagement. My father was absolutely furious and demanded I return home or he would completely cut me off. So here I am, back in London, with no plans, no friends, no future. I’m completely untethered.”

Finally you look up at Jack again. His eyes seem completely focused on you, like he could listen to you talk for hours. You put your hands on your cheeks. “I’m—I’m sorry, that was a lot.”

“No, it’s perfectly fine. Seems like you need someone to talk to.” His smile is so sweet you know he’s not lying and hiding that he’s annoyed with you. The opposite of Arthur’s smiles. “Is that why you were so sad that night?”

You nod slowly and hug yourself. “I’ve been so lonely and feeling so worthless, like I’ve ruined everything in my life.”

His boot brushes gently against your foot and he leans forward. “Now, don’t you ever think that. Things may seem bad now, but they’ll always get better, just you wait and see.” He leans back again. “Besides, you’ve got a friend in London now.”

You can’t help but smile at him, but you also have the urge to weep. How could someone you barely know be so kind? “Are you always this optimistic?”

“In this life, in these times, I don’t know how to be anything but. And I believe it—there’s always light in the darkness.”

“Says the leerie.”

His grin widens. “It’s my job, isn’t it?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Bring light? Or bringing flowers to sad, lonely girls?”

His eyebrow matches yours. “One’s my job, one’s my pleasure.”

You laugh and poke him with your foot. He taps yours back and a game of tapping and evading ensues with you both laughing louder. Suddenly you shush him and half cover your mouth. “We’re getting too loud! Someone might hear!”

He stops and nods. His smile slowly fades and its absence is like a lamp going out. “Right… I don’t want to… your father…” He waves a hand in the air and stands up. “I should let you get to bed, anyway.”

You scramble to your feet. “You don’t have to—I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all right, no harm done.”

You both stand awkwardly, him leaning on the railing again and you clasping your hands in front of yourself.

You say each other’s names at the same time and stop. His smile returns. “Good night,” he finally says.

“Will you come back tomorrow?”

“It would be my pleasure.” He doffs his cap and swings over the railing.

Once he reaches the bottom of his ladder, you call out softly, “Good night, Jack.”

He waves at you and mounts his bicycle. As you watch him disappear down the street, you realize you finally have something to look forward to. Maybe Jack is right—maybe things will get better.

* * *

In the morning you open your window and find a yellow daffodil on the railing. You hum all morning as you get ready, even during breakfast. Your father asks why you’re so cheerful today and you just tell him you had a wonderful dream last night.

After he’s gone to work, you go to your room and find Polly changing your sheets. You’re humming again when she says, “Lovely daffodil.” Your humming stops and you turn to her, mouth open. She just winks and leaves the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I love writing dialogue!


	4. Read Between The Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack comes to your balcony another night and you are almost discovered.

You go for a stroll in the afternoon, just to get out of the house for a bit. The weather is a tad dreary, which is usual for most London days. You keep your umbrella tucked in the crook of your arm in case the grey clouds decide to open up while you’re out. After stopping in a few shops and buying nothing, rain seems imminent. Thankfully you spot a bookshop on the corner and duck in right as the drops start to fall.

You’ve never been in this shop before, but you are immediately charmed by it. There are two storeys with books stuffed into every inch of shelf space. Where there is no room left, they overflow to tables or are stacked two rows deep.

“Good afternoon, Miss!” the shopkeep says when he spots you.

You smile at him and give him a little wave.

“Let me know if you need help finding anything.”

“Thank you, I’m just browsing.”

He nods and goes back to adding books to the overstuffed shelf in front of him.

You wander through the rows, unable to resist running your fingertips along the spines every so often. You pick up and page through several works, but nothing catches your eye enough to take with you. Perhaps a romance book for today? You smile to yourself. As you look for more novels to peruse, you see a small sign signaling the poetry section. You’ve always loved poetry and see many of your favorites here.

Suddenly a small volume catches your eye and you pull it out. _A Child’s Garden of Verses_ , by Robert Louis Stevenson. The memory of a poem comes into your head. You find it in the table of contents, flip to the poem, and smile wide while reading. Then you snap it shut and hold it to your chest. This is certainly coming home with you.

You browse a bit more while the rain falls outside and eventually bring a few novels and the poetry book to the shopkeep and pay. Thankfully the books fit in your sizeable handbag to protect them from the weather as you walk back home.

* * *

While waiting for Jack that evening, it seems as if every muscle in your body is humming and you think the entire neighbourhood can hear. You pace in your room to try to quiet yourself, then give up and go to the balcony. It’s mostly dry from the day’s rain, but a few wet spots remain. You dig an old blanket out and spread it out on the ground, anticipating wanting to sit down. You think of your feet brushing against Jack last night and your chest tightens unexpectedly, but in a not unpleasant way. What on earth is your body doing to you tonight?

With nothing to do but wait, you sit out on the balcony and look up at the stars. You only know a few constellations and make a mental note that you should find an astronomy book at that shop next time you visit. Looking at your watch uneasily, you wonder why Jack is so much later than last night. Did something happen on his rounds? Did he forget? Is he not coming? It is well past dark and your streetlamps remain unlit.

Finally you see the lamp at the far end of the street burn bright. You stand up and can just make out a figure with his bicycle coming your way. He stops to light each lamp and as he gets closer and can see you, he waves his arm in the air as high as he can reach. You can’t help but smile and wave back.

When he finally reaches your lamp, you watch him expertly climb his ladder and turn on the gas to the lamp, then ignite it with his torch. Yours being the last lamp on the street, he extinguishes his torch and places it back on his bicycle. He moves the ladder to your wall and climbs up. Once his feet touch your balcony, he says your name in greeting.

“You had me worried for a while, Jack.”

He looks crestfallen. “I would never make you worry on purpose, I swear.”

You look down. “You were later than yesterday and I just thought perhaps something happened or… that you changed your mind.”

He takes a step towards you and reaches for your hand. You look up again as he holds your fingers in his. He has fingerless gloves on tonight and the soft wool is warm against your skin. “Don’t ever think that.” His tender eyes look into yours. “There were several lamps I had to fix tonight, which caused my rounds to take longer than usual. I hated to think of you waiting. But I said I’d come and I always do what I say. Promise.”

You want to extract more promises from those lips, but your breath is caught in your throat and your heart is pumping so fast and so loud you don’t think you can even be heard over it. Eventually you simply nod and he gives your fingers a squeeze before gently letting them go.

You take a moment to collect yourself and then say, “Well, I’m glad you made it, because I have something for you.”

His face lights up. “For me?”

“I thought since you bring me a gift every morning, I should return the favour.” You quickly go back to your room and grab the package off your vanity. As you hand the book wrapped in brown paper and string to Jack, he seems completely flustered.

“You—you really didn’t need—never feel like you have to—I wasn’t expecting—”

Laughing, you tell him, “Open it and you’ll see why I had to get it.”

Carefully, he unties the neat bow of the string. After unwrapping the string, he tucks it in his jacket pocket. He gently pulls the paper off the book and looks surprised as he reads the title. “Poetry?”

“Have you read any of them?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve read some of Stevenson’s novels, but not his poems.”

“I marked one for you,” you say as you point to the ribbon tucked in the pages.

He slides his fingers in between the pages to open it where the ribbon is. You see him read the title and his face transforms from confusion to delight. “The Lamplighter!” He looks up and gives you the biggest smile, which you return.

“Read it!”

He steps closer to your window for more light and reads aloud:

_“My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky;  
It’s time to take the window to see Leerie going by;  
For every night at teatime and before you take your seat,  
With lantern and with ladder he comes posting up the street._

_Now Tom would be a driver and Maria go to sea,  
And my papa’s a banker and as rich as he can be;  
But I, when I am stronger and can choose what I’m to do,  
Oh Leerie, I’ll go round at night and light the lamps with you!_

_For we are very lucky, with a lamp before the door,  
And Leerie stops to light it as he lights so many more;  
And O! before you hurry by with ladder and with light,  
O Leerie, see a little child and nod to him tonight!”_

He touches the drawing of a lantern in the book when he finishes. “That’s so brilliant, that is.”

“I told you I’d heard ‘leerie’ before; I just didn’t remember it was from a poem.”

He closes the book slowly and looks at the cover again. “Thank you, truly. I had no idea that there was a poem about us.”

“Dickens wrote a short story about lamplighters!”

“Oh, that one I’ve read! Though it’s not really about lamplighters. But it’s funny enough.”

“Wasn’t there a line in it about lamplighters being trustworthy?”

“I think it’s, ‘for who ever heard of a traitorous lamplighter?’” He seems proud of himself for remembering.

“And do you agree with that sentiment?” you ask.

“I would say it’s fair and accurate. Leeries are the best sort of people.”

“But you’re a bit biased, of course.”

“Well, what do you think, then?”

“About leeries?” You pretend to ponder this. “I suppose you have every opportunity to climb into my window and steal anything you’d like. As far as I know you haven’t.”

Jack places a hand on his chest and mocks offense. “I would never!”

“But that’s just one leerie. I think I’d need to know more to say none of them were traitorous.”

“Now there’s a brilliant idea! You need to come meet the other leeries!”

Now it’s your turn to mock offense. “A sophisticated lady such as myself, fraternizing with _leeries_?” You put the back of your hand on your forehead. “What would the society pages say?” You hold your pose for a moment, then laugh. Jack laughs as well, though uneasily. You notice this and say, “I would absolutely love to meet them, Jack, honestly.”

His uneasiness fades quickly. “We’ll have to arrange that, then.”

You smile at each other for a few moments. Then you motion to the ground, “I brought out a blanket, as the balcony was still a tad damp.”

“A lovely picnic spot, if I do say so myself.”

“Now there’s an idea—I should have packed us some treats! I can go get something if you’re hungry…”

“No, no, it’s all right.”

You both sit on the blanket in the same positions as last time.

“I hope my boots don’t muck up your blanket,” Jack says, looking at his feet.

“Oh, it’s an old blanket—no harm.”

He stretches his arms above his head. “Good to get off my feet after today.”

“Is your job fairly tiring?”

“Most days it’s not, but when there’s things to be fixed and I work longer it takes its toll.”

“You don’t work from dawn to dusk, do you?”

“Oh no—I have time off in the middle of the day.”

“What do you do then?”

He leans forward and whispers conspiratorially, “Most days I take a nap.” You cover your mouth as you giggle. He says, “But also take care of myself—food, laundry, all that. And usually get some reading in.”

“So, you like to read?” you ask Jack.

“Oh, of course! I’ve always loved stories, ever since I was young.”

You and Jack discuss favourite childhood books, finding that many are the same. There is an easiness that settles over you as you converse. Jack is animated when he talks, making large gestures with his hands. After books, Jack tells you about his work and his friends and it’s obvious he loves both. You return his affectionate stories with your own—of life in Bath at university and the friends you miss. All the while, your feet rest against his.

Jack tells you how on the weekends the leeries stay up late to sing and dance. This sounds like the most wonderful thing in the world to you. He tells you, “We try to outdo one another with new dance moves. Angus thought up this one that he calls ‘Jack-in-the-box’ after me!” He stands up and tries to demonstrate on the narrow balcony.

You’re doubled over with laughter watching him swing his arms up and hop around.

He holds his hands out to you. “Come join me!”

“Are you mad?”

“Probably a little,” he says with a mischievous grin. You take his hands and let him pull you up. He kicks the blanket of the way and instructs you. “All right, first you sort of crouch down like this…”

“You look ridiculous.”

“That’s why it’s fun!”

You laugh at him again as he tries to coax you into copying him.

Suddenly you hear a noise from inside the house. You stop and listen, but Jack keeps moving, unaware. “Jack—shh!”

He slows down but keeps moving, “What’s the fuss?”

You hear another noise and hurriedly place your right hand over Jack’s mouth, your left pressing against his chest. Immediately he is completely still. You can feel the breath from his nose warming your hand but when you hear footsteps inside you both stop breathing.

Trying to listen to who could be about in the house, you’re distracted by the fact that you’re touching Jack’s lips. With his soft lips slightly apart, his mouth is warm on your palm. You’re both staring wide-eyed at each other, waiting for any sounds. You hear nothing so you finally release all the air you’ve been holding in your lungs and move your hand away from Jack’s mouth. “Stay here,” you whisper and he nods at you.

Back inside your room you tiptoe towards your door. Just as you’re about to press your ear to the door you hear your father say your name from the hallway. You gasp loudly and step back.

“What are you still doing up?” he asks and you hear him reach for the handle.

“Don’t come in—I’m changing!” you yell quickly. “I’m just going to bed now.”

The door is open a crack. “I thought I heard stomping and voices…”

“I was playing a record. I’m so sorry if it was too loud! I was dancing and thought I was being quiet.”

“Dancing at this hour? What on earth has gotten into you?”

“I—I couldn’t sleep. I thought it would tire me.”

“Must I really impose a rule against nighttime dances?”

“No, Father, I won’t do it again.”

“All right, then. Go to sleep and I’ll see you at breakfast. No having a lie in tomorrow due to dancing.” He finally shuts the door all the way.

“I won’t. Good night!”

As you hear his footsteps retreat down the hallway, you shake your hands at your sides, trying to relieve yourself of your panic. When you’re sure your father is gone, you return to the balcony and find Jack pressed into the corner, as far from the window as he can get. “He’s gone,” you say.

Jack lets out a long breath. “Blimey, that was close.”

You nod, and it dawns on you that this may be your last clandestine visit from your leerie. Your chest immediately tightens at the thought of losing the only light in your life.

“I’ll scarper, so I don’t cause you any more trouble.” He starts towards the railing. “We probably shouldn’t meet up here again.”

You nod despondently as Jack prepares to leave.

He stops and looks at you for a long moment. “But—I would like—that is, if you want to… we could meet somewhere else.”

“Oh… yes, Jack. I would like that very much.”

He gives you that smile you’ve come to adore and you find your mouth mimicking his. Jack says, “We could meet during the day in between my rounds. At the park where we first met? At noon?”

“That’s a wonderful idea.” You step towards him. “Tomorrow?”

He takes one of your hands in his and lifts it to his chest. “Tomorrow.”

“Promise?” You stare deep into his eyes.

Jack stares back and without breaking eye contact, lifts your hand to his lips and gently kisses your fingers. “Promise.”

He climbs down, mounts his bike, and starts to leave, all while staring at you still. You watch him intently until eventually he has to turn his head and steer down the street.

You bring your hand to your face, thinking of his lips on your fingers. Imagining what it would be like to kiss his lips, you close your eyes and sigh. You hope Jack is imagining the same about you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept going back and forth on whether or not to include the bookshop scene, as it’s not really needed. But I think I’m really nostalgic for wandering through bookstores right now (thanks, covid). 
> 
> I also keep wondering if I'm doing too much historical research for a smut fic. But then again, maybe I'm not doing enough! ;)


	5. London Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack takes you on a surprise outing.

During breakfast you have to hold your knees down with your hands to stop your legs from bouncing under the table. Thankfully your father doesn’t mention the “dancing” of the previous night and goes to work at his normal time.

You help Polly clear the dishes and then stand at the window, staring out. Wondering what would happen today, you can’t help smiling to yourself and letting out a small sigh.

“What are you getting wistful about over there?” Polly asks from across the room.

Her voice makes you jump a little. “Oh… just—the sky is… lovely today.”

Polly snorts. “The London sky is hardly ever lovely, unless you love clouds.”

“Clouds can be lovely—you can imagine any sort of shape in them.”

“Now when did you become such a dreamer?” She shakes her head. “In any case, I’m glad to see your spirits lifted lately.”

After helping Polly clean up more, you busy yourself in your room. Despite constantly checking your clock, the time drags by. Finally you can’t stand it any longer and decide to leave at eleven o’clock.

You tell Polly on your way to the front door, “I’m going out for the day; I’ll be back for supper.”

“Out for the whole day? What big plans do you have?”

“Oh—I wanted to do some walking, and… run some errands…” you trail off.

She lifts one eyebrow. “All by yourself?”

You bite your bottom lip, trying to decide if you really want to lie to Polly. Lying to your father doesn’t bother you, but Polly has been nothing but kind and loving to you your entire life—the opposite of your father, really.

Polly chuckles. “Now dear, have fun and just be careful.”

“I will.” You kiss her cheek and start out the door.

“And bring him around sometime.”

You stop and turn back to Polly. She’s grinning ear to ear at you while you stare at her with your mouth open. “How—when did you…”

“I’ve known you since the day you were born, dear. Nothing gets past me.” She waves her tea towel at you.

You wave back and leave. Underestimating Polly was not something you would do in the future.

The sun starts peeking out from behind the clouds as you walk. Perhaps today will actually be a lovely day, you think. Though you want to run to the park, you force yourself to slow down, knowing how terribly early you are. You’ll just have to have a stroll around the park to kill time, you decide. Still, you go towards the intersecting paths where you first saw Jack on his bicycle. You can start there and keep it in sight so you know the moment he arrives.

But as you get closer, you see a familiar bicycle standing in the grass. Its owner is lying down close by, propped up with one elbow while reading a book. His flat cap is pulled down over his eyes to block them from the sun, so he doesn’t see you approaching.

“And I thought I was going to be early.” You say as you stand over him.

Jack lifts his head, a confused look on his face. As soon as he takes you in, his mouth breaks into the widest smile and he jumps to his feet. “Well good morning!” He checks his watch. “It can’t yet be noon…”

“No… I couldn’t wait.”

His eyes catch yours. “Neither could I.”

You can feel that your face must mirror his own goofy, shy smile.

Looking down at his hand, you ask, “What are you reading?”

“Bit of poetry.” He holds up the book you gave him last night.

“Ah yes, I think I may have heard of that one.”

He laughs. “A gift from a dear friend.”

You do your best not to blush. “Speaking of gifts, I didn’t receive any flowers this morning,” you pretend to pout.

“Ah, that’s because I have a better surprise for you today.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “And what might that be?”

“Oh, you’ll have to trust me and find out.” His eyes have a mischievous glint in them.

“I trust you.” You say earnestly.

His eyes change from mischievous to tender in an instant, but he turns quickly to his bicycle. “Right then—off we go!”

“On there?” You point to the bicycle.

“’Course! Hop on!” He takes his place on the seat but scoots back a little.

“Is this safe?” You’ve never ridden a bicycle before and though you’ve always found them appealing, you also find yourself intensely nervous at the prospect of it.

“Safe as houses.” Jack motions for you to come on.

You frown. “Houses fall down. Houses catch fire.”

He chuckles. “I’ll look after you, don’t you worry.” You still don’t move, mulling it over. Jack leans forward. “I’ve been riding this here bicycle every day for years. I know what I’m doing and promise no harm will come to you.” He puts his hand out for you to take.

Well, you did say you trusted him. Stepping forward, you place your hand in his and he smiles warmly at you. “Where do I sit?” you ask.

“Right here in front of me.” He pulls you towards him.

You let him pull you closer as you hold your breath. Jack helps you sit sideways on the seat and you blush at the closeness with him, your shoulder against his chest. “Where do I put my hands?” You turn to look at him and find your face an inch from his and you quickly turn away again.

“On the handlebars is fine. Just don’t try to steer.”

“I absolutely wouldn’t dream of it.” You turn your torso and hang on to the middle of the handlebars.

“Ready?” Jack asks, an inch from your ear.

You grip the handlebars tighter. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

He leans into you, his chin on your shoulder. You freeze at the feeling of his stubble against your neck. “Here we go!” he says and then pushes off down the path.

You shriek at the movement and shut your eyes. Convinced you are going to plummet to the ground at any second, you can’t bear to even peek. You can feel and hear the air blowing past you, and you also feel your heart pounding in your throat.

“It’s all right—take a look,” Jack whispers to you.

You’d forgotten his presence for those first few terrifying moments, but focusing on how your back is pressed to him brings you back to yourself. Jack starts humming and you listen, trying to pick out the song.

Finally you open your eyes slowly. You thought the world was rushing past you, but you realize now the bicycle is not traveling very quickly. Jack carefully steers down the park paths and you see a few people raise their heads and watch you both go by.

Jack’s humming turns to singing and you listen to the song, slowly relaxing your tight grip and letting your body lose its tenseness.

_Grab your coat_ _  
Don't forget your hat  
But leave your worries  
Leave them on the doorstep  
Just direct your feet  
To the sun sunny side of the street_

After the song ends, you start humming it again without thinking. Jack chuckles softly against your neck and starts singing it again. As you pass the curve of the Thames, you join him, singing softer than his confident voice. You notice that as you become more comfortable, Jack increases his speed.

After singing the song together three times, you finally pause and try to take in your surroundings. “Jack, where _are_ we going?”

“I told you—it’s a surprise.”

“Do I get any hints? How far is it?”

“Only about ten more minutes. And no hints, but I think you’ll like it. At least, I hope you do.”

As Jack starts singing a different song, you let yourself lean back just a little more against his chest. You can’t imagine not liking going anywhere with him.

The busy streets slowly fade away to a large quiet one and you see a signpost up ahead. “Kew Gardens?” you read aloud.

“Since I didn’t bring you a flower today, I figured I’d bring you to the flowers.” He cycles through the main gate and stops the bicycle just past the entrance. “You can get down now, if you’d like.”

You hop off to the side of the bicycle and wobble a bit. After half an hour of riding, your balance needs a moment to return. Jack dismounts behind you. “Have you ever been here?” he asks.

“No, I haven’t! Have you?”

“A few times. It’s rather large, so I’m sure I haven’t seen it all. But there are certainly some sections I want to show you.” He looks at you expectantly. “So… pleasant surprise?”

“Of course, Jack! This is wonderful, really.”

He beams at you and starts walking with the bicycle. You follow beside him and he tells you about his previous visits. You both stop and point out flowers and shrubbery as you walk. He leads you to the rose garden first, which is in full bloom. As you observe the flowers, you keep stealing glances at your companion. Every time you look his way, he seems to look quickly away and become very interested in whatever is in front of him.

You visit several sections of the gardens and eventually Jack suggests buying lunch when you come across a sandwich vendor. Sitting on a small bench, you eat elbow to elbow. Jack finishes his lunch first and as you keep eating you feel his body shift towards you just slightly so that your upper arms are touching. You let your shoulders relax and lean into him, too. After your last bite, you look over to Jack and find him watching you with his expressive eyes.

“Where to next?” you ask.

“Japan,” he says and jumps up. Pulling the bicycle back on the path he gets on and you follow him. Climbing on the bicycle is much easier than the first time and as you start on your way, you find yourself more relaxed while riding. Maybe you could get used to this mode of transportation.

Jack stops at the end of a path and you hop off again. He stows the bicycle off to the side and you walk towards the building ahead together. “This is the Japanese Gateway,” he tells you. You see a brown structure ahead with a pointed roof and curved awnings.

As you approach you can see the intricate carvings in the wood depicting animals, plants, and people. The wall you’re looking at has lions in different poses. “These carvings are amazing! Just look at swirls in the lions’ manes.” You turn and find Jack watching you again. Instead of looking away this time, you smile at him. He gives you a sheepish grin in return and tells you to come look at another part of the gateway.

Soon you move on to the rest of the Japanese garden, full of low, manicured greenery and pops of red and purple flowers. The paths here are narrower and as you try to squeeze down one while still remaining beside Jack, you slip your arm around his. “It’s so peaceful here,” you say and turn to him. He’s looking straight ahead and nods, but you see his ears turning bright red.

“Would you want to visit the real Japan?” you ask.

“’Course. I want to see the whole world someday.”

As you continue to walk arm in arm, he tells you all the places he’ll go in the future and you tell him about the places you’ve been. After you’ve been strolling through the park for hours, he looks at his watch and says he should probably get you back in time for supper. The ride home is filled once again with songs and you think you can feel Jack nestling into your neck more than before as you get closer to your street.

You ask Jack to stop down the road, in case your father is already at home. After you get down from the bicycle a final time, you tell him, “Thank you for today. It was the perfect surprise.”

“The perfect surprise for the perfect lady.”

You lose your breath for a moment before you can say anything else.

Jack clears his throat. “Perhaps we could meet again soon?”

You nod in response.

“Same time and place tomorrow?”

“Yes. I’ll be there, Jack.”

He nods. “Goodnight.”

You walk down your street as Jack stays where he is, watching to make sure you get home safe. Before you reach your door, you turn and wave at him. He waves back and as you enter the house, it feels like a part of your heart is still out on the street.


End file.
